


Just Between Us

by triste



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 04:54:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triste/pseuds/triste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seychelles blamed it on the porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Between Us

Title: Just Between Us  
Author: Triste  
Fandom: Hetalia  
Pairing: Seychelles/England  
Rating: NC-17  
Status: Complete  
Disclaimer: Not mine

~~

It had only been a month since Seychelles transferred to her new school and already she was feeling the consequences. The worst thing about being grouped in with weirdoes and geeks meant they tended to rub off on you after a while. Seychelles gradually began to forget what normal people with normal behaviour were like. More resigned than anything, she chose to accept rather than resist. It just made her life easier.

Even so, that didn’t explain the recurring dreams she’d been having lately. It was bad enough simply experiencing them night after night. Worse still was that they were sex dreams. What made it truly tragic was that they were sex dreams about Seychelles’s least favourite person in the world. It made Seychelles wonder if she was depraved. It made her think of Hungary as a bad influence. Seychelles had been happy to have her as a roommate, at least until she discovered Hungary’s insatiable appetite for gay porn.

It was like an obsession. Hungary hid it well. She seemed like such a sweet and mild mannered girl on the surface, but underneath that laid a penchant for violence (usually against Prussia) and sex (the only thing Hungary valued more than her internet connection was Austria).

Initially, it wasn’t so bad. Seychelles blushed her way through the first boy’s love comic Hungary lent her, but was able to laugh it off easily enough. Hungary, excited over having someone else to share her passion with, soon bombarded Seychelles with other, more explicit things.

Hungary took great pride in her collection of adult DVDs. Where she managed to hide them during room inspections was anyone’s guess, but exposing Seychelles to her guilty pleasures had produced a rather unwelcome effect.

They were starting to give her strange ideas.

Those ideas had recently been manifesting themselves in her sleep. It was always the same dream, always involving the same person, always with Seychelles doing the same things.

She’d been dreaming about England, about giving him a taste of his own medicine by letting him know what it felt like to be owned. She dreamed about turning the tables by being the one to put a collar on him, by having him being the one to follow orders and do as Seychelles said.

It didn’t stop at Seychelles bossing him about. She would dream of gagging him, blindfolding him, tying him up, and generally establishing her dominance over the man who, in reality, wielded so much power.

It was hot, not to mention very, very wrong.

Seychelles blamed it on the porn.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if her dreams had chosen to remain as dreams, but they were causing all sorts of trouble by filtering through into Seychelles’s daily life. She would fantasise during class, while eating lunch, or while helping out with the student council.

That was when Seychelles would nearly give herself away, when the lines between her dream England and the real one would blur, when she couldn’t tell one from the other anymore. It was getting dangerous. Seychelles was really beginning to worry about her mental state when England chose that moment to speak up.

“You’ve been staring at me for the past ten minutes,” he said, his tone as clipped and irritated as ever. “Is there something you would like to tell me?”

It took Seychelles a few seconds to realise England’s mouth was moving and words were coming out of it. “What?” she asked.

“You were staring,” England replied slowly. “At *me*. Anyone else I would accuse them of plotting my demise, but your vacant expression tells me otherwise. Do you always look this gormless?”

Seychelles was having no trouble following the conversation now. England’s high and mighty attitude never failed to get her brain going. It was how she came up with her best insults. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to feel too offended, not when England had no idea he’d been visiting her in her dreams every night. She knew something he didn’t. It may have been childish but it didn’t prevent Seychelles from feeling a sense of empowerment.

“I just haven’t been sleeping well,” she said, which was about as close to the truth as she was willing to reveal.

“I see.” England went back to his work.

It was disappointing. Seychelles had expected him to say something else, or at least make a derisive comment, but he didn’t. She actually enjoyed their verbal sparring matches.

Sighing, she attempted to follow England’s lead by doing more constructive things with her time, but her attention kept wavering from the papers on her desk to the person sitting opposite her.

It was impossible to concentrate. Seychelles watched England from the corner of her eye, pretending to work when really she was busy gazing at his neck. It was all too easy to picture him wearing the collar from Seychelles’s dream, a black leather one with metal studs. In her dreams, England had never worn anything other than that collar. It was odd, especially considering the only naked part of England Seychelles had ever witnessed were his arms and legs. The boys and girls took PE together, so she’d seen him in shorts and tee shirt more than once.

Seychelles wondered what he would really look like nude. He wasn’t muscular, like Germany. He wasn’t hairy, like France. For a guy, he wasn’t even that tall. He was also pale and relatively skinny (Seychelles put that down to a combination of his avoidance of the sun and poor cooking skills).

That aside, he wasn’t bad looking. The eyebrows could be overlooked, with a little effort. Seychelles didn’t think England could ever be described as any girl’s dream guy, but she had seen much worse. He was better than France, but only marginally, and only because Seychelles preferred her men clean-shaven.

There were other things Seychelles found herself noticing as of late, such as England’s scent and the timbre of his voice. It was very pleasing to the ears, or would be if only he wasn’t constantly complaining and criticising. Seychelles wondered what he would sound like when he moaned. Hungary frequently insisted sex noises were just as good as the sex itself. Vocal was good, apparently. Seychelles found herself inclined to agree.

The temptation to act out on her fantasies had never been so strong before. If she wanted to hear England moan, all she had to do was make him.

She bit down on her lower lip, her fingers itching with the urge to reach out to England and touch him, to strip him, to feel the warmth of his skin.

It was all Hungary’s fault. She’d turned Seychelles into a predator. Her grandfather would be ashamed.

Funnily enough, Seychelles was not. She’d moved on past that particular emotion long ago. Immersing herself in gay porn had been a good desensitiser. There wasn’t much that embarrassed Seychelles anymore.

A giggle slipped out before she could stop it. England peered over at her warily. “What is it now?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Seychelles said innocently. “Just going quietly mad.”

~~

Naturally, Hungary encouraged her. She took Seychelles out shopping on one of their days off. Gothic was in, she claimed. They could pick up collars in any fashionable accessory shop without having to resort to the seedier areas of town (or, as Seychelles suggested in amusement, a pet store).

There were certain privileges that came with being the president of the student council. Having a private room was just one of the perks, and one that Seychelles was incredibly grateful for when it came to putting her plan into motion. Girls weren’t allowed inside the male dormitories and vice versa, but Seychelles had picked up a thing or two about being sneaky from England, the self-proclaimed master of stealth. His room was on the top floor (the penthouse suite, other students jokingly called it), unlocked.

His expression was first surprised when he answered Seychelles’s knock, then it quickly turned to outrage. “What on earth are you doing?” he said. “You shouldn’t even *be* here!”

“It’s okay,” Seychelles reassured him. “No one saw me.”

“That’s not the point! This is against the rules. If anyone finds out–”

Seychelles grabbed his tie and yanked him down to her height, effectively shutting him up with a kiss. “You started this,” she said afterwards, her mouth still only millimetres away from England’s. “It must be your black magic. I can’t get you out of my head. You’ve infected me with your pervertedness.”

Now England’s expression was insulted. “I beg your pardon?”

Perhaps it wasn’t fair to pin the blame solely on England (Hungary should have been held equally accountable), but Seychelles was beyond reason. “Get back inside,” she ordered, pushing England into the room and locking the door behind her after she followed.

England’s room was a very nice one, Seychelles noticed. It was much larger than the one she shared with Hungary. It was also extremely neat and tidy, but that, she supposed, was a reflection of England’s nature.

“House proud much?”

England crossed his arms over his chest defensively. “You disapprove?”

“Not at all. I like it. If you had the cooking skills to match your cleaning and organisational ones, you’d be perfect. Personality excepted, of course.” Seychelles walked over to the bed and tossed her bag onto it. “Right, then. Time to get down to business.”

“And what business would that be?” England inquired, his gaze fixed on Seychelles.

“Why, that would be seducing you, Mr. President,” Seychelles informed him brightly.

“I knew it. You really were planning to overthrow me.”

In a way, he was right. Seychelles only wished he weren’t so slow. “Honestly, wasn’t that kiss enough to clue you in?”

“You hate me,” England said, suspicious. “Are you sure this isn’t some half-baked assassination attempt?”

“You’re just being paranoid.”

“I have many enemies.”

Seychelles sighed. It was always so much easier in her dreams. Deciding to make her intentions clear once and for all, she opened her bag and pulled out the first item. “Here,” she said, throwing it over to England. “Put this on.”

It was the collar she’d purchased with Hungary. Unimpressed, England made the catch. “You want me to do what?”

“Put it on,” Seychelles repeated. “It’s about time you learned what it’s like to feel claimed.”

“First,” England began, “it’s not learned, it’s learnt. Second, don’t forget whose territory you are. If you want to rebel, you could at least do it properly. And third, what on earth is going on?”

“Like I said, you started it. You’re driving me crazy. If I don’t do this, I’ll never get it out of my system. Do as I say and put the bloody collar on.”

“So you can take pictures as proof?”

Hungary would probably approve of that. Even if Seychelles wanted photographic evidence, which she didn’t, she hadn’t thought to bring a camera with her. In any case, England was stalling. She had to get things moving again.

England’s eyes widened significantly when Seychelles took out the lubricant, but that was nothing compared to what he looked like when she produced her vibrator. “What is *that*?” he asked nervously.

“That,” Seychelles replied, smiling pleasantly, “is a girl’s best friend.”

“Shouldn’t that be diamonds?”

“Diamonds don’t do this.” Seychelles switched the vibrator on to demonstrate. England paled.

“And why have you brought it to me?”

“Because you’re the one I plan to use it on. To put it simply, my intention tonight is not to overthrow you, but to top the hell out of you.” Seychelles clapped her hands briskly. “Come on, make it quick. Collar on, clothes off. What are you waiting for?”

“You’re insane,” England accused.

“That’s what sleep deprivation does to you,” Seychelles said brightly. “Still, I suppose it’s only fair to motivate you somewhat. It’s not like I’m the only one who’ll be getting something out of this.” She kissed England again, slower this time, and more thoroughly. Colour had returned to his face when she drew back to look at him, his previously pale cheeks now a fetching crimson. “See? It’s not so bad.”

England looked confused, and more than a little lost. It made Seychelles feel quite fond of him all of a sudden.

“You must have built up stress from your work with the student council, right?” she continued, tracing the line of his jaw with her thumb. “There’s no better way in which to get rid of the tension. What’s more, it’ll benefit us both.”

“It’s still crazy,” England said.

Seychelles kissed the corner of his mouth. “But it’s going to be worth it.”

England was obviously trying to think of a reasonable and logical argument and failing. Seychelles took advantage of his indecision by unfastening the knot of his tie and popping open the top two buttons of his shirt.

“It’s going to be good,” she murmured, plucking the collar out of his hands and buckling it securely around his neck. “So, so good.”

England swallowed. “No one else can know. This stays just between us.”

Seychelles smiled, triumphant. “It’ll be our secret.”

England was the one who initiated their next kiss, but Seychelles refused to yield to him. She was the one in control, the one who made the decisions. All England had to do was consent to them.

Getting England out of his uniform took some work. He was wearing layer upon layer of blazer, sweater vest, shirt and tee shirt, but underneath all that lay smooth, bare skin, which Seychelles ran her hands over greedily once she’d gained access to it.

As she’d imagined, he was slim and of small build, though still taller and broader than she was. Aside from the obvious, that wasn’t the only difference between them. His skin was so much paler than hers, his nipples a rose petal pink. Seychelles rubbed her thumb over one experimentally, making his breath hitch.

It didn’t take quite as long to rid England of his trousers, shorts and socks. Once that was done, Seychelles stepped back slightly to get a better look at him. His hands were on his hips, his posture more awkward and uncomfortable than confident and commanding, but Seychelles liked what she saw. It didn’t take much to stimulate him, she noticed. He was already half hard.

“What about you?”

“Not yet,” Seychelles told him, taking his hand and leading him over to the bed. She found that it helped to remain fully clothed while England was completely naked. Her intentions were to be assertive rather than aggressive, to set the pace rather than be drawn into it.

That was easier said than done, however, and Seychelles faltered slightly as England raised an eyebrow at her hesitation. He wasn’t mocking her, not quite, but it was still enough to make Seychelles retaliate. England’s response when she took hold of his cock was immediate and gratifying, as he cried out, That was what she’d been wanting to hear, those sounds, to have England writhing and helpless under her hands, to find out how he liked to be touched and where. He was fully erect now, his hips arching up into Seychelles’s hand as she slowly pumped his cock. His eyes were closed, his cheeks flushed, lips parted and inviting. Seychelles kissed them again, moistening them with her tongue, sliding it inside his mouth.

He whimpered when her fingers moved away, moaned when Seychelles settled herself on top of him, bucking his hips and grinding against her stomach. One of his hands was on her ass, his fingers dipping dangerously low between her thighs. Seychelles resisted the urge to squirm, smacking his hand away instead as she kissed her way down the length of England’s body.

He gasped when her lips brushed his left nipple, then again, louder, when she ran her tongue over it. She was beginning to regret keeping her clothes on. They were making her feel stifled and uncomfortable, especially where the wetness below was starting to soak through her panties.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to undress, to know what England’s mouth would feel like on her throat, her breasts and her stomach, but Seychelles pushed aside her own needs for the moment, and focused on England’s.

His moans grew more urgent the closer Seychelles drew to his cock, his hands fisting in the sheets, his whole body tense and straining. Seychelles didn’t mind his impatience. In fact, she welcomed it. It kept him distracted while she removed the final item from her bag, the lubricant.

It felt good to hear him calling her name, to hear him pleading. Seychelles gave him what he so desperately needed, even more pleased to see him spreading his legs for her.

Seychelles knew he wasn’t aware of anything else in that moment, that his whole world had narrowed down to the sensation of Seychelles’s mouth on his cock. He never even noticed Seychelles slicking her fingers with the lubricant, but he definitely felt it when she pressed one of them inside him.

There was none of the resistance Seychelles had been expecting. Her finger slid in effortlessly. England jerked and cursed, but showed no sign of discomfort. He felt so tight, much tighter than Seychelles had imagined. It didn’t feel like he was capable of taking anything more than one or two fingers, but Hungary’s porn had taught Seychelles better.

Indeed, she managed to get three fingers inside him without any trouble, applying and reapplying the lubricant (because there was, as Hungary had told her, no such thing as using too much of it). Seychelles ignored England’s needy whine when she let his cock slip out of her mouth.

“Get on your hands and knees,” she commanded.

England obeyed reluctantly, Seychelles giving him a sharp slap on the ass when he took too long to get into position. She did it again for the hell of it, and England glared warningly at her over his shoulder. Apparently, spanking wasn’t one of his favourite kinks.

Seychelles laughed breathlessly as she applied yet more lubricant, this time over the vibrator. It slid inside as easily as her fingers, though it was larger and thicker, and penetrated much deeper. Seychelles couldn’t fathom why she’d once fantasised about gagging England. The noises he made were just too sexy. The way he cried and panted when Seychelles switched the vibrator on and let it work its magic made her forget about putting England’s needs before hers.

Even so, her panties were the only piece of clothing she bothered to remove as she plunged her fingers inside herself, using her other hand to stimulate her clit, but it still wasn’t enough.

The only solution was to get England onto his back once more and move up the bed to straddle his face and grip onto the headboard to steady herself, moaning when she felt the length of his tongue moving against her. He gave an answering moan, the vibrations of it making Seychelles shudder violently. He didn’t waste any time as he tugged her clit into his mouth, sucking hard.

It felt amazing, but her inner muscles were aching for something to contract around, fingers, cock, vibrator, *anything*, but England’s mouth was forcing the climax out of her anyway, building the pressure up and up until Seychelles couldn’t bear it anymore. She dimly heard the sound of herself crying out as she came, could feel her thighs trembling with the effort of staying upright, but it took her a few minutes to gather the strength to move.

She felt sated, relaxed, but England was still moaning, still squirming. He hadn’t come yet, and Seychelles took pity on him by driving the vibrator deeper with one hand and jerking him off with the other.

Reality was definitely better than fantasy, she decided, despite being infinitely messier. “Next time I’m bringing a strap on,” she said.

“What’s wrong with normal sex?” England sounded miffed.

“Normal sex doesn’t really do it for me anymore,” Seychelles sighed. “That’s the trouble at being in a school full of perverts. I’ve become as much of a deviant as you and everyone else.” Inevitably, her gaze strayed to England’s neck. “That collar looks great on you, by the way.”

“And I’m taking it off right now. Then I’m having a bath.”

Seychelles brightened. “Let’s have one together.”

“I’m not bathing with a woman!”

“Even though you just got buggered by one?”

“Technically speaking–”

Seychelles didn’t hang about to hear the rest of whatever England was about to correct her on. Clean up could wait. A nice hot bath was more important. It could also provide her with potential opportunities to do other fun things to England.

 

End.


End file.
